


Catch-22

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [12]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bathing/Washing, Bdsm etiquette, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Connor, Boys In Love, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Comfort, Coming Untouched, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Connor is in trouble you see, Consent, Discipline, Discussing limits, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Pampering, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Spreader Bars, Teasing, Top Hank Anderson, Trust, mean hank anderson, scene negotiation, working within limits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 08:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.Part 12.__Connor knows the answer before he asks the question, but he needs a gauge for just how badly he’d broken the rules, “Am I in trouble?”Anderson ignores him and Connor crosses the room to tug at his wrist, “Sir?”Anderson’s hand rises to card through Connor’s hair before kissing him lightly. He can feel Connor’s heartbeat at this proximity and it picks up the pace at his monosyllabic answer, “Yes.”--Anderson doesn't tolerate disrespect. Connor knows this. Some lessons need repeating.





	Catch-22

Anderson had seen a confident Connor and he’d seen a smug Connor. Both of them at once rapidly proves to be unbearable. It wasn’t that he begrudged him his happiness or excitement, but he was flirting with the line of what was appropriate.

Anderson understood Connor calling his brother. He understood him setting a time for tea with his mother. He understood Connor crowing to Markus in the faculty lounge. It drew a lot of attention, but it wasn’t as if Anderson expected the engagement to be a secret.

He wanted people to know; he did not want people coming up to him to ask him inane questions. He could handle it from Connor’s family. They had a vested interested in him and he mostly ignored Niles’ thinly veiled threats.

He drew the line at students approaching him with nosy questions they had no business asking. The third student to seek him out with wedding questions in her mouth shrank away from the withering look he gave her with a mumbled apology.

Pinching at the broad bridge of his nose, he resolves to talk to Connor about how open he’s being with their personal lives. He’s unprepared for him to push back.

“Why shouldn’t I be happy? Why shouldn’t I talk about it?” He crosses his arms and Anderson can all but see Connor digging in his heels.

Anderson sighs, trying to make Connor see reason before he buries himself in a hole of his own creation, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I—”

“Then there isn’t a problem. I have a 10:30 appointment with a student. I’ll see you at lunch.” Anderson stands there flabbergasted, allowing Connor to peck him on the cheek before waltzing away.

“Ok, then,” Anderson exhales carefully controlled anger. If Connor wanted to play it that way, so be it.

Lunch is a lackluster affair and Connor must sense Anderson’s mood because he limits conversation to work and the progress their students are making. By the time they’re driving home together, Connor is all but squirming in the passenger seat.

“You can’t still be irritated.” His tone lacks apology and Anderson ignores him. Connor lapses into a broody silence of his own and Anderson can hear the cogs turning in Connor’s brain, pulling together arguments for a fictitious disagreement they will most definitely not be having.

Connor follows him all the way to their bedroom without a thought for anything but his own indignation. His mouth parts to issue his opening argument when Anderson finally speaks, soft and low.

“I am not still _irritated_.” He emphasizes the word for Connor’s benefit, but he doesn’t pick up on the subtlety.

“Then why are you acting like a complete prick?” Anderson raises both eyebrows slightly and the tumblers fall into place in Connor’s brain.

Anderson begins working at the buttons of his shirtsleeves, paying Connor little attention as he speaks, “You disappointed me today, Connor. Disrespect rarely comes so easily to you.”

He lets the words sink in and doesn’t continue until Connor’s arms rise to wrap around himself. Anderson recognizes his tells; Connor isn’t ready to admit to any wrongdoing.

“Maybe you misunderstood me?” Connor tries to rapidly gather defenses, but Anderson knows he wasn’t ready for this conversation. He’d been looking for a fight; Anderson isn’t having it.

“I tried to have a discussion with you; you interrupted me and walked away.” Connor tries to interject, but Anderson raises his hand in a silencing gesture, “Did you know I’ve had three students come up to me to ask about our wedding?”

Connor’s face wrinkles in confusion, “And?”

“And why would a student feel it is acceptable to ask me such prying questions about my personal life?” Anderson asks simply, folding his shirt over his butler stand. Connor’s face goes a shade whiter and he begins to worry at the inside of his cheek with this teeth.

When he doesn’t respond, Anderson continues, “Your behavior has led them to believe their our lives are an open book for their casual reading. It’s inappropriate.”

Connor bristles, “And you’re the supreme authority on what’s appropriate?” The words crack like thunder between them and Anderson watches as Connor’s hand slaps across his own mouth as if he can take back the words.

He scrambles to try to undo the damage, “Hank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just mad and—” Anderson’s belt hits the floor with an unnaturally loud crack as the buckle connects with wood and Connor flinches at the sound.

Anderson speaks quietly as he continues to undress, “We have a problem, Connor. Either I have become too soft or you’ve completely forgotten the rules.” He lets Connor simmer in that catch-22 for nearly a minute before speaking again.

“Regardless, the solution is the same for both,” Anderson adds his folded slacks to the stand before turning to look at Connor expectantly.

Connor mostly tries to remember how to breathe. He hasn’t seen that look in a long time; it sends simultaneous spikes of panic and arousal through his gut.

Connor knows the answer before he asks the question, but he needs a gauge for just how badly he’d broken the rules, “Am I in trouble?”

Anderson ignores him and Connor crosses the room to tug at his wrist, “Sir?”

Anderson’s hand rises to card through Connor’s hair before kissing him lightly. He can feel Connor’s heartbeat at this proximity and it picks up the pace at his monosyllabic answer, “Yes.”

Anderson is more than adept at bringing Connor to the edge of orgasm only to leave him teetering at the precipice. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when Anderson instructed him to shower thoroughly and wait for him in their room, but he assumed it involved protracted, agonizing arousal.

He hadn’t been surprised when Anderson restrained him face down or hiked up his hips. The lack of lubricant didn’t bode well and he had to swallow down a whimper at the glimpse of a spreader bar.

He calms slightly at the gentle touch of Anderson’s hand at the small of his back, “Did you do as I asked?” Connor knows Anderson would never harm him and a small knot of stress unravels.

“Yes, sir,” Connor can barely raise his voice above a whisper around the tension filling his chest, but Anderson hears him all the same.

“Good.” His tone is direct—neither please nor dissatisfied. They’re just getting started and Connor is certain this isn’t a scene he’s likely to forget anytime soon; he’s also aware that’s entirely the point.

He jerks badly at the first slide of Anderson’s tongue against his hole. It’s something he knows drives Connor wild, but it’s not an act he indulges in often. Connor shivers in anticipation as Anderson works him open, prodding and teasing Connor into an undulating mass of need.

Connor wants to touch, to pull, to hold onto something real, but the restraints keep him in place. Anderson’s singular attention to his outer rim becomes maddening, but the spreader prevents him from changing his stance, from shifting the intensity. He can only whine and hump his hips against air.

Connor cries out an overwrought sound when Anderson slows his pace, running the rigid tip of his tongue around Connor’s twitching, tightly coiled rim. When Anderson sits back on his heels, Connor tries futilely to rut back.

“Please, sir. Don’t stop. I want—” he falls silent as Anderson looms over him, releasing his wrists. He knows better than to move.

Still, patience has never been his strong suit and it’s a fight to keep the words locked behind his teeth. He squawks out an indelicate noise when Anderson grips the spreader bar and bodily flips him over. Once on his back, Anderson re-secures Connor’s arms.

“You think a great deal about what you want, Connor.” Anderson shifts further up Connor’s torso, not quite resting the full bulk of his weight on Connor’s chest. Reaching into his boxers, he pulls out his formidable cock, fully erect and leaking.

Connor knows what Anderson wants him to do, but he can’t dip his head that low with his arms restrained. He makes a sound of distress.

“Open your mouth,” Anderson issues the command and Connor’s jaw drops in compliance. Anderson tilts forward to grip the headboard with one hand while using the other to guide himself to Connor’s mouth. He smears the beaded tip across Connor’s upper lip in an obscene imitation of lipstick before sinking the head into his mouth.

The angle is awkward for Connor and he can do little more than receive, but he does his best to bob along with Anderson’s thrusts. At a stuttered bucking of his hips, Connor realizes Anderson is close.

He tries to murmur a question around a mouthful of cock, but Anderson ignores him in favor of fucking his face. The first warm burst of release across his tongue sends a pang of disappointment through him. Unlike Connor, Anderson can’t get off back to back.

He’s surprised by the mischievous look on Anderson’s face. Anderson pats Connor’s cheek before pulling wetly from between his lips. Tucking away his softening dick, he moves as if to release Connor’s wrists. Instead, he turns the band on Connor’s finger.

“It’s maddening, isn’t it?” Connor blinks at the question, unmet lust addling his thoughts.

“Sir?” It’s the only response he can think to give.

“When someone you love doesn’t give your feelings consideration. When they do whatever they want regardless of what you want. It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” He punctuates the question by lightly stroking Connor’s flushed erection, running his thumb across the leaking slit.

Connor groans at the teasing touch and bucks up wildly in an attempt to take what Anderson won’t give him, “I asked you a question, Connor.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles quietly, fully aware it’s not going to get him what he wants. Still, he has to start somewhere.

“I know,” Anderson replies while untying the restraints and freeing Connor’s legs. He tosses a long nightshirt at Connor before motioning at him, “Come help me with dinner.”

It’s the most uncomfortable meal he’s ever had. It’s not so much what Anderson _is_ doing as it is what he’s _not_ doing. He knows Anderson won’t be ready to go again until tomorrow at the earliest. By the time they make it to bed, Connor’s unresolved arousal threatens to drive him to distraction.

When Anderson rolls to his usual side, Connor tugs at the back of his shirt and whispers, “Please, hold me.” No matter how much Connor pushes his buttons, Anderson has never denied him closeness. He denied him plenty of other things when he acted a brat, but never comfort. The large man rolls over without hesitation, pulling Connor closer to him.

Connor knows better than to ask for release. He knew the minute Anderson spilled down his throat that he was going to spend the rest of the evening in a state of nearly painful arousal. The slide of Anderson’s arms around his chest, pulling him close, helps him relax a few vital degrees.

Sleep is hard to come by, but he knows he must’ve achieved it when he awakes in the morning with an achingly hard cock and the desperate urge to rut against the swell of Anderson’s stomach. Glancing at the clock, he has to bite back a groan; there’s not enough time before they need to leave to continue.

By the time they make it to work, Connor is in such a state of distraction that Anderson cancels his office hours to help him manage his situation. Connor is on him the second the door closes and Anderson indulges in the kiss, sneaking past Connor’s zipper to stroke his length.

“I had a thought about your…condition.” Connor raises an interested eyebrow, hoping Anderson will wreck him right there on his desk. Anderson gestures at a simple gift bag sitting on his chair and Connor peeks inside.

“Hank, you can’t be serious.” Connor tries for a haughty, unaffected tone, but mostly he sounds like a whining brat. The look Anderson gives him confirms it.

“I’m not sure why you think breaking more rules would somehow garner my sympathy for your plight. Watch your tone and your words.” He palms at Connor once last time before pulling his hand free from the zipper of his trousers. Connor shivers, recognizing the shift. Any discussion of their _rules_ was always a cue for Connor.

“Han—Sir. I was just…startled.” Connor continues staring at the contents of the bag like it might jump out at him.

Anderson’s tone is less than forgiving, “You know better.”

At a pleading sound from Connor, he grips him by the chin, “You can’t follow simple rules; why should I believe you won’t run off to the faculty bathroom to rut into your own fist the minute you leave here? Put it on, please.”

Anderson holds his gaze, gauging Connor’s reaction. He’s never been this firm with him or engaged him in a scene to this degree while at work. Connor knows he could draw the line here and Anderson wouldn’t hold it against him.

It’s a request, not a demand. He’s giving him the choice to wear the chastity belt or to shift the scene.

The idea of wearing the thing while holding lectures is humiliating. Of course, only Anderson would know, but still. The idea of it coats his body like a shameful, well-tailored suit. The answering damp spot at the front of his slacks gives him away.

It’s larger than Connor expected, which is a slight relief. He wouldn’t be able to wear a more restrictive model with his state of near-constant arousal. The base is solid black but the remainder of it looks a great deal like a literal cage. Made of silicone, the bands that loop around culminate at a small opening at the tip. As far as chastity cages go, Anderson was easing him into it.

Anderson doesn’t comment, but Connor can see the approving set of his mouth when he reaches for the bag. He gives Connor a small reprieve and doesn’t watch as he figures out how to situate the cage comfortably.

Anderson doesn’t look up from the papers on his desk again until the lock clicks closed. Connor panics slightly at the sound, “How do I get it off?”

Anderson rises to redress Connor fully with a Cheshire smile on his face, “_You_ don’t. I have the key at home.” He palms at Connor through his work pants, smiling at the feel of the device.

Alarm rises like a tidal wave until Anderson tilts his head in a kiss more chaste than the device restraining him, “I’ve canceled our evening lecture. You just have to make it through the one.”

Connor exhales pure relief and a surge of arousal thrums through his caged cock, “Thank you.”

Anderson gives him a fond look entirely at odds with his words, “I’m going to enjoy wrecking you.”

Flushing horribly, Connor tries his best not to appear as if he’s fleeing the room.

He can almost forget the cage when the lecture is in full swing. Trying to elucidate the difference between a smart machine and a machine equipped with artificial intelligence doesn’t exactly inspire lust. Of course, Anderson watching him with heated eyes from the back of the room shatters the illusion.

He _knows_ what Connor is wearing beneath his slacks. He _knows_ how badly Connor wants to touch and be touched and his eyes practically assault Connor with this knowledge. He has to look away when he feels his dick’s answering swell. Although roomier than most models, he can feel the length of his arousal bulge at the seams of the cage as the head of his cock meets resistance.

It’s not painful, but he has to bite back a choked sound at the mental image. Shaking his head, he exhales slowly through his nose as he makes a show of looking for a marker to write out notes on the board. It would be faster to type it out at his desk and stream the notes to the large screen on the wall, but he doesn’t trust himself to sit. He doesn’t want to feel the cage slide against his thigh, an agonizing reminder of the deprivation of sensual touch. With his back to the class, the students are none the wiser to his predicament. If any of them had bothered to turn to peer at Anderson, they would see the small, pleased smile on his face.

Anderson has never been able to stay cross with Connor for long. He tries so hard to be good that his random outbursts of bad behavior stand out more noticeably than if he bratted about constantly. Still, he has plans and unless Connor signals otherwise, the scene will continue as intended.

When the last student files out of the room, Connor leans into Anderson’s chest, releasing tension through a heavy exhale. Anderson smiles down at the display; Connor has no idea, none, how much more is still to come. He laces his fingers with Connor’s and murmurs into his hair, “You’re doing well.” Anderson can practically see Connor’s self-assurance inflate at the praise.

Anderson’s fingers remain locked firmly around Connor’s as they walk back to the car. He doesn’t usually engage in open displays of affection, but he knows it helps Connor handle the awkward shift and sway of the cage as he walks. He holds the door, waiting for the moment Connor finally sits while wearing the thing.

Connor makes a small, embarrassed sound and Anderson tries not to grin straight into his face. By the time he pulls the car into his driveway, he can’t resist reaching over to stroke at it through Connor’s pants. Connor squirms and throws him an irritated look, but Anderson just chuckles in response.

Connor all but flies to the bedroom when Anderson mutters, “Wait for me in our room. Be ready when I get there.” Anderson takes his time hanging up their coats and collecting Connor’s discarded clothes as he had apparently undressed on his way down the hall. When he walks into the room, his eyes zero in on the flushed tip of Connor’s leaking erection crammed against the limits of the cage.

“Lovely.” Anderson strokes at the tip through the bands of the cage and Connor convulses at the touch, “Are you uncomfortable?”

Connor has to bite back an acerbic retort. He knows what Anderson is asking, “I’m not in pain. It’s…it’s not that kind of restriction.”

“No, it’s not.” Anderson agrees, searching Connor’s face and body language for any signs of undue stress. He’d purchased this particular model to prevent physical touch rather than controlling Connor’s arousal.

Guiding Connor into position, he lets him hide his face in the bedding as Anderson raises his hips high into the air. The soft whimper that escapes Connor at the first slide of a slick finger into his needy hole nearly melts Anderson’s resolve. He’s exquisite like this and Anderson nips lightly at Connor’s hip when he adds a second finger. Bending his knuckles in a beckoning gesture, he finds what he’s looking for with practiced ease. He begins caressing without mercy.

Anderson is more familiar with Connor’s body than he is with his own. Connor had always been able to come untouched, but it had taken time in earlier scenes. Now, Anderson knew where to push, prod, and bite. He could reduce Connor to a quivering mass with a well-timed look and a drag of his nails under Connor’s shoulder blade.

The fact that he has Connor dangerously close to the edge of orgasm within minutes of getting started isn’t surprising. The endless onslaught against his prostate would be enough on its own to get him panting like a bitch in heat. The drag of Anderson’s beard across Connor’s shoulder as he looms over him, his hand fisting into Connor’s dark locks and pulling just so to expose his neck—an infinite number of small touches pool and swell between Connor’s legs until he’s trembling and unable to stop begging.

“Please, sir. Touch me.” Anderson would laugh if Connor’s debauched tone hadn’t hit him hard in the gut. He almost made it too easy to give in to his requests. Almost.

“I am touching you, Connor.” His hand ghosts across the cage locking away Connor’s dick. Dribbling precome marks the device in places and Connor twitches at the indirect touch.

“I want it off,” he all but wails the words and Anderson’s grip tightens slightly in his hair. As predicted, Connor gasps and another weak bead of precome wells at the tip of his straining erection.

“What have I said about using the words ‘I want’?”

Hone tone is deceptively soft and Connor spasms, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean t—”

Anderson allows himself a small smile that Connor can’t see, “Consider this your last warning. I can draw this lesson out for days if you can’t follow simple rules.” He doesn’t add that he won’t; Connor doesn’t need to know how badly Anderson wants to fuck him. He’s also not an animal. He tries to limit active scenes to a few hours at most—something Connor is aware of, “Do you understand?”

Connor nods weakly and Anderson resists the urge to frown. Normally, he’d demand a verbal answer, but they’re approaching Connor’s limits for humiliation. He reigns in the impulse to correct Connor, careful not to push him too far.

“Good,” Connor’s shoulder relax a few degrees at the word and the tone. The skin unbunches at his neck at a soft stroke of Anderson’s hand down Connor’s back. Soft touch—a subtle reminder that Anderson loves him, that he’s safe, and that he’s ultimately in control of how this scene ends.

When Connor shudders at the contact and nods again, Anderson gently releases his hair. His fingers drift over the swell of Connor’s left buttock until they find his loose hole. He resumes his maddening stroking, zeroing in on the tight bundle that makes Connor hump against the bed.

While he usually delighted in pulling multiple orgasms from Connor, he has different plans for this evening. As much as he enjoys the punctured sound of Connor’s screaming when he fucks against his sensitive prostate, he isn’t sure how Connor will feel about getting off twice while still wearing the cage. Likely embarrassed, which usually fuels Anderson’s lust. Even so, too much of a good thing and all of that. He doesn’t want to risk Connor having an unnecessary drop over Anderson’s selfish whims.

“Do you want to come, Connor?” Anderson rakes the nails of his free hand down Connor’s inner thigh as he asks the question, enjoying his surprised jerk.

“Yes, sir.” Connor’s answer is immediate and desperate longing soaks into the words.

Connor can hear the sinister smile in Anderson’s next question, “Do you think you deserve it?”

A shiver quakes down Connor’s spine and he whispers his plea for a reprieve, “_Please_.”

Anderson growls in response as he slides in a third, meaty finger. Connor bucks in the realization that Anderson is preparing to rail him, “You can come impaled on my cock or around my fingers, but you only get one.”

Connor’s body erupts in a blush with the force of an atomic gale and Anderson’s cock twitches in response.

“_Please_,” Connor repeats the word as his hips gyrate in motion with Anderson’s thrusting hand.

“Which is it, Connor?” He’ll stand his ground on this one; he won’t make those kinds of decisions for Connor. The brat will need to say the words out loud.

“Fuck me, _please_.” The urgency of his tone and rapidness of his response tells Anderson Connor is close.

He withdraws his hand in favor of stroking over Connor’s restrained arousal once more, “This stays on.”

Connor buries his face in the bedding, but he nods. Anderson smiles as he watches Connor’s stubbornness reach its tipping point before bending to his own.

Connor bawls out a wounded howl at the first slide of Anderson’s cockhead against his prostate. With a bruising grip and a low growl, Anderson assaults the bundle of nerves like a man possessed. Connor makes a feeble attempt to crawl away from the ceaseless waves of pleasure, but Anderson responds by flattening him to the bed with a well-aimed thrust.

When Connor sobs out an overwrought request for _more_, Anderson’s heart pulses in fondness. Still achingly hard, his brain stores away the nugget of information for later examination. He throws all of his strength into fucking Connor into a state of blissed-out incoherency.

Half-formed words mingle with whimpers on his lips as Anderson drags every thick inch of his cock against Connor’s sensitive walls, battering his prostate with each slide. Connor knows he’s done for when Anderson withdraws to manhandle him onto his back. Bending Connor in half, both men know it’s a finishing move for Connor.

Anderson meets his gaze when Connor squeezes his fingers, “Are you close?”

Anderson gives him a slight, knowing smirk. He’s all too aware what Connor is asking. He brushes his mouth against Connor’s, pressing the head of his cock against Connor’s still slick hole, “Ish.”

Connor’s eyes grow slightly wider, “Ha—Sir?”

Anderson nudges the tip inside until Connor sucks in a sharp breath. He sets a slow pace, sawing in and out over his prostate relentlessly.

“Sweetheart,” Anderson breathes into the space between them, “you’re going to sing for me.”

Before Connor can process his words, Anderson picks up his pace in earnest. He fucks into Connor like a punishment, soaking in every whimper, moan, and sobbed explicative. There’s no use in fighting it, but Connor has always been tenacious. Anderson can tell Connor is trying to last, to hold out until Anderson is closer to release.

He unravels when Anderson rumbles from above him between thrusts, “Come for my dick or not at all.”

He can’t stop the flood of heat racing through his veins, arching out of him to spurt around and between the silicone bands of the chastity cage.

“_Oh_.”

Anderson hears the first quiet beginnings of Connor’s oversensitivity. It always starts the same way, as if Connor is surprised that Anderson fucking him through and beyond his orgasm is too much for him. It’s one of the things Connor had been most enthusiastic about when they first discussed limits and continues to be a favorite for them both.

“_Hank!_” Surprise gives way to alarm as per usual and Anderson pounds him through it, waiting for the shrieking to start.

“_Sir!_ Oh, fuck. _Please_. Please, please, please.” Anderson’s fingers find Connor’s, anchoring him. It isn’t until Connor’s shrill shouting gives way to speechless whimpering that Anderson lets himself consider his own orgasm.

With a final rock of his hips, he spills into Connor’s used hole. When his vision clears of stars, he pulls back to gaze reverentially at the man beneath him.

He leans in for a kiss and murmurs _perfect_ against Connor’s lips. It’s a languid, unhurried kiss. Connor will need mountains of attention and reassurance. As he peppers Connor’s jaw with kisses, he makes a mental list of immediate tasks.

Groping blindly for his discarded wallet, he pulls out the key for the chastity belt. Connor makes a grumpy accusative noise, “You said it was at home.”

Anderson shrugs, “I wanted you to think it was, but I needed to have the option of having it on hand. For you.”

Connor flushes, realizing what Anderson means. If Connor wanted to back out of the scene after getting started, Anderson needed to have the capability to accommodate the request. Anderson’s meticulous planning and consideration for details never fails to touch Connor at his core.

Bone-weary tiredness envelopes Connor like a second skin as Anderson sets about cleaning him up. He’s nearly drifted off to sleep beneath the warmth of a plush blanket when he’s startled into full consciousness by Anderson’s hand on his stomach. He takes in Anderson’s nakedness and arches an eyebrow in question. Anderson always dressed straight away assuming he even undressed at all for a scene.

“Follow me.” He holds out a hand and Connor reaches out to take it, white gold glinting on his finger. Anderson smiles as he runs a thumb over the metal band. He pulls him down the hall to the bathroom; it’s lit with gentle candlelight and a mostly full tub steams invitingly.

Connor watches the shift of Anderson’s backside as he strides to the tub first, sinking before motioning at Connor to join him. He pulls Connor flush to his chest, nosing at his hair. Swiping a soapy loofa across Connor’s chest at random, he murmurs into his ear.

_…so good for me…_

_…you are a treasure…_

_…I love you._

Connor shudders under the onslaught of praise, his heart light. He tilts his chin to take in Anderson’s profile. His eyes are closed as his hands move in a gentle caress across Connor’s body.

“You love me?” he asks already knowing the answer. Anderson nods and Connor smiles faintly, “For always?”

Anderson cracks an eye and pinches at one unsuspecting buttock, making Connor yelp before he answers, “Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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